


A Taste of You

by Wrenlet



Category: Tigerland (2000)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenlet/pseuds/Wrenlet
Summary: Halfway back from the rail yard, Roland gets into another fight.





	A Taste of You

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) , "bloodplay" square. Minor liberties taken with the movie timeline. Thanks to [](http://tsuki-no-bara.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://tsuki-no-bara.dreamwidth.org/)**tsuki_no_bara** for pom-pom shaking :D

Halfway back from the rail yard, Roland gets into another fight.

Well, it's actually more of a scuffle. An altercation. I'd help him out but I think my legs are still pissed at me for threatening to break them, and after one wild swing I end up sliding down the wall of the alley and splaying my legs on the ground.

It ends quickly, in any case. Turns out the damsel in distress is neither distressed nor that into being rescued, and on top of the boyfriend's punches Roland takes a beer bottle across the face for his trouble.

"See, this is what I get," he says as he hauls on one of my arms and tries to drag me to my feet, "for poking my nose in. You're a bad influence, Pax."

I sway between him and the rough brick and peer at his face, assessing the added damage. There's a thin cut across the curve of his cheek, messy but not too deep, and his lip has re-split. "You should clean that up."

"If you say so. C'mon, I'm not carrying you."

Roland makes a show of shrugging my arm off but not until I'm somewhat steady on my feet, which I appreciate as I'm apparently a lot drunker than I thought. I tick off points in my head, trying to work out which side of the line I'm on right now: sober enough to trail Roland back to the motel, check. Too drunk to work the key in the lock, check. Sober enough to think Roland really ought to wipe the blood off his cheek...

Drunk enough to lean in and lick it clean.

Sober enough to think it means something when Roland doesn't immediately shove me away. Or wait, maybe that's still a tick in the 'drunk' column.

There's a streak of red down the side of his chin, it tastes of copper and salt, and I know he shaved before we left the base but still there's stubble again, already. I stop short of- I stop, suddenly aware that the door is shut and the room is quiet and the night is so warm that I can barely feel how close we're standing, Roland's heat indistinguishable from the heavy Louisiana air.

"What, you got a thing for blood?"

It's an out, and I take it. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Roland grins, sharp and quick and gone almost before I know it's there. He tongues the side of his mouth, pushing at the split in his lower lip until the blood wells up fresh again. His eyes on mine are like a dare and I take that, too, licking up and into his mouth.

It isn't completely a lie; I _didn't_ have a thing for blood but now it seems I do, at least for Roland's. Maybe because he seems so willing to spill it as long as it's not for the army, maybe because I privately wish he wouldn't. Either way, it's there in the kiss and maybe that makes me kiss Roland harder, rougher, until he hisses into my mouth but still doesn't pull away.

I don't know how long I spend chasing that taste, but I feel his grip on my arms before I notice the sway in my balance, and he holds me steady until I straighten up and settle back on my heels.

"Feel like walkin' it off?"

I pull in a long breath, considering. "Yeah, we better. We're late already."

Roland grins and slaps my shoulder. "That we are, my friend."

And that's an end to it. If Roland isn't going to say anything then I won't, either. We're so close to Tigerland and everything that follows after, it's best to just let it be.

When Roland goes to turn in the room key I hang back in the parking lot. I pull my lips in between my teeth and suck the last of the flavor off them: could be Roland, could be my own sweat, no real way to tell. Whichever one will fade by the time we get back to base.

It's for the best.  



End file.
